


the next episode

by euphoriaspill



Category: On My Block (TV)
Genre: Brothers, Fix-It, Fluff, Gangs, Gen, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:21:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23218426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euphoriaspill/pseuds/euphoriaspill
Summary: Oscar and Cesar come to a turning point.
Relationships: Cesar Diaz & Oscar "Spooky" Diaz
Comments: 5
Kudos: 78





	the next episode

**Author's Note:**

> so that was... some ending... huh...... anyway i am ignoring it. 
> 
> laratoncita gets full credit for ‘bitch in a blue romper’ as well as complaining about s3 with me for hours 🥰

Cesar stumbles in through the front door after looking for Oscar’s corpse all day, only to find him sitting on the couch, chewed up and spit out, but very much alive. Taking swigs from a bottle of vodka, because of course he is. Fucking hell—

“Dad.” The word spills out of him in a flood of relief, in a way it hasn’t since he was six or seven; he called Ray that, took it out for a spin, but this feels far more natural. “Dad, I—“

He wants to say a million things, looking at him, the gruesome ropes of stitched-up cuts running down his face and neck— how desperately sorry he is, how he didn’t mean as much as he spat at him. How his stomach was squeezed by a giant fist walking through that forest, wondering if Oscar went to his grave with condemnation ringing in his ears. A tangle of apologies, but Oscar holds out his arms without hearing any of them. “Hey, _nene_ , c’mere,” he coaxes. “Didn’t I tell you I’d take care of it?”

His eyes fill with tears, threatening to slosh over his bottom lash line; he walks over to the couch on frozen numb legs, and Oscar pulls him close, maneuvers him until he’s lying up against his side. “I thought you were dead,” he says, actually pinches himself. “You weren’t answering your phone—“

“For real, fool, you thought some bitch in a blue romper or some _mocoso_ whose balls haven’t dropped could pop a cap in me?” He says it with his usual bravado, but he tightens his arm around Cesar, who can’t stop trembling; his head is up against his brother’s chest, he can feel the rapid thump-thump-thump of his heart. “I handled my shit— handled our shit. And I—“

“Yeah?” Cesar says, after his voice trails off and doesn’t sound like it’ll pick back up, though Oscar hates being interrupted.

“You said I chose the Santos over my own family.” Cesar opens his mouth to sputter, take it back, but the words don’t come out. He said that shit from his chest. “And you were right. I’ve picked the life over you every time.” He scoffs even as he runs his hand through his hair, and Cesar settles under his arm like a cat that’s being petted. “Picked the life when you were little, picked the life when I spent four years in jail... picked the life when I went along with you being thrown out. Said I loved you, that I’d do anything for you, but I guess those must’ve just sounded like empty words.”

“Oscar, no, I—“

Ray was easier to love when he reappeared in their lives, a cipher he could project all of his hopes onto— an uncomplicated kind of love, when they were still strangers to each other. Not like Oscar, who was flawed and had a quick temper on him and the wrong priorities and didn’t always even try to understand and was a _selfish fuckin’ asshole_ at times—

who stayed, despite everything. Who’s here now, shoveling through the knee-deep muck of their relationship. Who’s been his _dad_ , for most of his life, even when he was barely older than a kid himself.

Cesar should’ve cut him more slack. Maybe he deserved it, maybe it felt good to reject him for once and throw accusations like handfuls of sand, but after shoving him away for so long, it feels a lot better to be back in his arms.

“You know how scared I was when you were kidnapped?” He presses a hard kiss to the top of Cesar’s head. “Even if it was just for a few hours? Fuck, I... I knew I had to leave, after that. I could never live with myself if anything happened to you ever again.”

Cesar swallows back a lump in his throat that might as well be made of iron, his eyes swimming with unshed tears again. “ _Mano_ ,” he says thickly, “I meant it... that I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. You _raised_ me. I don’t know how I can ever make it up to you—“

“You don’t owe me shit.” Oscar says it real harsh, but it’s all directed at himself. “That was my job, and I want to do it right from now on— I want us to just be a normal family. Live a life where we ain’t dodgin’ bullets on the regular.”

“What are you saying?” Cesar asks it and lets hope unfurl in his chest like a banner. Hope he hasn’t allowed himself to have in a long time.

“I’m gonna talk to Ray,” Oscar says— sounds like he just bit down on a dead rat, but he still says it. “See if he can maybe put in a good word for me, at the kitchen where he works, they’re okay with ex-cons. Find us a place up in Bakersfield. It’s not Brentwood, not a buncha white folks still, but we wouldn’t be nailing the windows shut either.”

“So... we’re leaving.” Cesar pinches himself again, just to make sure this isn’t some kind of fever dream; he’s so dizzy he’s afraid he might pass out. “Both of us. We’re leaving Freeridge.”

“No, homie, I was thinking I’d pack up my shit and forget to take you along in the U-Haul.” Oscar rolls his eyes, pulls him even closer, like the thought itself hurts. “Yeah, _both_ _of us_. Where could I ever go without you?”


End file.
